Hiker hits some snags on winter excursion to White Mountains

Two years ago, when I tried to sign up with the local chapter of the Appalachian Mountain Club for a winter hike in the White Mountains, trip leader Pat Lambert turned me down.

Not enough experience, she said.

I was disappointed and, frankly, a bit offended. I had hiked hundreds of miles of the Appalachian Trail, albeit in spring and fall. I was a veteran of dozens of marathons, and still ran. And as for winter hiking, well, I had made innumerable treks through the snow to the woodpile in my yard over the years. Shouldn't that count for something?

But I sucked up the rejection, took AMC's winter hiking workshops to learn about clothing, gear and nutrition, and participated in the chapter's winter hiking series, going on progressively more difficult trips to get used to the equipment and exposed to the cold, windy, snowy and icy conditions that mountains can throw at you.

Early this month, I stood in the wind and fog atop 4,312-foot Mount Pierce in New Hampshire after slogging up from Crawford Notch for hours on snowshoes with seven other hikers, including Lambert, of Westboro, one of the trip leaders and the chapter chair of AMC Worcester.

I had climbed my first 4,000-foot mountain in the winter. The next day, I did another, this time the much steeper Cannon Mountain out of Franconia Notch.

Looking back over the workshops, the practice hikes and this month's “graduation weekend” with the 4,000-footers, I appreciate the training and the leadership provided by the hiking club. Now I know what I didn't know two years ago.

Like how to use crampons, these lethal-looking spikes that strap to boots for traction on ice.

Before a training hike on Mount Monadnock, leaders told us to fit them to our boots and practice putting them on at home. I did practice putting them on – incorrectly, as it turned out. And after I had them strapped on the right way during the hike, I caught the front points of the right crampon on my left pant leg, sending me sprawling to the ground and shredding my pants from the ankle to the knee. But I didn't shred myself, and at least I stuck the landing, I sheepishly joked as people asked me if I was OK.

After that, I started wearing full-length gaiters that fit snugly over pants, making it harder to snag, injure or embarrass myself.

Sixteen of us gathered at AMC's Shapleigh Bunkhouse in Crawford Notch for graduation weekend, which included a choice of hiking the 4,000-footers or taking lower elevation trips to the magically frozen Arethusa Falls and Mount Willard. While we hiked, homemade chili, soup and mac 'n cheese warmed in Crock Pots back at the bunkhouse.

Snow hung heavy on the evergreens in the woods. Many of the smaller trees were completely covered, prompting a fellow hiker to note they looked like trolls or, in one case, a polar bear.

The hike up Mount Pierce threw a bit of everything at us. At first, the trail was well-traveled and packed down, requiring only so-called microspikes on our boots, small-toothed traction devices that even I can wear without drawing blood.

But when we hit a cutoff, our route had a foot or more of new fallen snow, and we had to break trail. Plowing through deep, sometimes drifted snow while going up a mountain is hard work, so we took turns in the lead, with each person taking 50 steps before letting the next person in line take over.

Twice we lost the trail.

The first time, we doubled back until we found markers we had missed that indicated a turn. Because the snowpack was so deep, the markers, painted at eye level on trees, were just shin-high. We had stomped right past them.

And at the summit, we hit almost blinding snow and fog, and couldn't find tracks down that other hikers had left just minutes before. As we searched, another group found the trail, yelled to us and we got back on track.

The trip up Cannon proved an adventure, as well. In several places on the ascent, we had to drop to all fours and crawl — with packs and snowshoes on, no less — under small trees that had fallen down. And on the descent, it was so steep in places that we were almost skiing on snowshoes, unable to get purchase on the deep, loose powder. At times, there was nothing to do but drop onto our backsides and slide down. It was like being a kid again.

Debi Garlick of Deerfield, who organized the winter hiking series, presented the graduates with patches for our packs. And when we went to bed the first night of our stay, we found Ghiradelli chocolates that she had placed on our pillows.